


Camp

by AlexLKerr



Series: A Change of Plans [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epilepsy, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, POV Outsider, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexLKerr/pseuds/AlexLKerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam & Dean spend time at an overnight camp in California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Story 7 - Camp (Part 1)

Words: ~ 4,200

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

All right. I had all the kids in the cabin. Point one for me, because seriously they're scatter-brained wanderers and one of them, Josh, might be a sociopath. Just kidding. Behavioral issues happen and I think his family's a little off the deep end.

Anyway, I've got all five of them accounted for and inside. Didn't give them any candy tonight either - learned not to do that the hard way a couple nights ago. Don't judge me - I'm new to this whole camp counselor thing. Having Epilepsy and dealing with twelve- and thirteen-year olds (my group's age bracket): I soon came to second-guess my initial conviction that the former was more difficult than the latter. Even when the camp counselor-to-camper ratio is one to five and I've got my junior counselor Gabe on hand.

Sidenote: I don't think Gabe really likes me. He's sixteen years old and keeps looking at me with this smoldering resentment that I don't understand. We're four nights in and I've been trying to be decent to him - make him feel included by engaging in conversation. I'm older than him by six years, I go to Stanford, I'm friendly - doesn't that make me automatically a cool guy to hang out with?

Apparently the answer is no. But on the flip side, there's this kid in my group named Sam who's seriously become my little honorary junior counselor. He's helped me a lot so far and, while I'd never admit it to him, he's better at keeping track of my campers than I am.

He must know though. I consistently search him out whenever I want to find one of my campers. He's never hard to find, either. He's usually around his big brother, Dean. Dean is Tim's junior counselor, which is hilarious because Tim literally embodies the stereotype of socially-awkward, tightly-wound first-year med student. Whenever Dean comes up with an... unconventional... activity for the kids, Carrie (a fellow counselor) and I find each other and just watch Tim's eyes widen with repressed alarm. Cracks us up.

Anyway, back to the cabin: it is actually Dean that's the reason why my kids (campers, whatever) are currently pulling the shitty foam mattresses off their bunk beds and starting to surf into the walls with them. Gabe is sullenly leaning against the wall of the cabin while I'm trying to coordinate the whole thing. The trick is to move the bunk beds into a line against the walls so you have the full length of the cabin free to get a running start. I figured this out when I wandered into Tim's cabin yesterday morning and saw all the bunk beds had been rearranged.

"Hey Tim," I smirked, "what, the place wasn't uh... feng shui enough for you?"

Tim blinked at me, his coffee in hand.

"Huh? No, Dean did it," Tim replied, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he looked down at his bunk. I snorted with laughter.

"Wha- Why?" I asked lazily, smiling. Dean's antics were pretty entertaining. Tim looked back up at me and raised his eyebrows as he shrugged.

"I don't even know. You know how the counselor meeting went past eleven last night?"

"Mmhm."

Counselor meetings started at ten pm and were supposed to last an hour maximum. It was the only time Junior Counselors had full discretion over our campers and, if they were doing their jobs, the kids would be asleep by the time we'd get back to the cabins.

"I got back to the cabin around eleven-thirty, forty-five maybe, and the beds had been moved.

"Kids were asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah - lights were out and everything. Woke up to this, though," Tim said, frowning at his sleeping bag.

"Mm, what?" I murmured, walking over to check out Tim's sleeping bag, covered in glitter.

My amusement was a slow build, but when Tim monotonously murmured, "Kids must've grabbed it from the crafts supplies," as if this was a serious infraction to be investigated, I couldn't not burst into laughter.

Dean's glitter gag was great, but the whole mattress-surfing thing spread farther (I think probably because Dean was betting the glitter would get  _on_  Tim as he slept. He didn't take into account the fact that Tim's so rigid that he probably doesn't  _move_  when he sleeps). I wouldn't be surprised if all the other counselors were struggling with their seizure-prone campers right now, aspiring to glide into walls without nailing their heads.

You might be reading this and thinking the activity is just begging an injury (that could lead to a seizure). Here's the thing, though: we have two doctors and four nurses on staff and their cabin is only fifty yards off from ours'. These kids don't often get to play fast and loose with their bodies when they're home: overprotective parents is a big reason why but it's also because their surroundings are unpredictable and almost always potentially dangerous.

The general public just doesn't know what to do when you have a seizure. Even the little ones that aren't that big of a deal - it's taxing, man: I remember what it was like (I went into remission a few years ago). There's that awkward silence with your buds... and then you either have to try to explain what just happened (which is rough when you're still coming out of it) or you just stay silent and let the moment pass.  _Someone_  will pick up the thread of conversation that had been happening before you'd clocked out. You just have to wait it out and try not to be so disappointed by the indifference (or, worse, judgment that you're brain-damaged  _when conscious_ ).

This camp, though? This camp is safe. All the kids and all the counselors (and junior counselors) have had direct experience with seizures and know what to do when or if the big ones (and little ones) happen. No one's judging and, best of all, no one's  _pitying_  you if anything happens.

I'll give you a highlight, because this was pretty funny. It was seven in the morning: groggy campers and counselors alike were just settling down in the dining hall. Chairs and squeaky sneakers echoing around, the bustling sounds of the kitchen cooks setting out the buffet table. The kids all still had high-pitched voices - the cut-off age for the camp was fourteen, so whenever they were loud - even the boys - they were  _shrill_. I don't know why but they found it endlessly entertaining to see my plainly unhappy expression when they'd call out to someone across the room. Seven am, man. It was  _seven_  in the morning and they'd just  _screeeech_...

So anyway, I sat down at an empty table, the standard protocol for counselors: if any of your kids weren't lucking out on finding a clique, the table their counselor sits at is a home base. It'd been about twenty-four hours into the start of the camp (forty-eight for me, as all the counselors and junior counselors had to come a day early to review the camp's first aid and safety policies) - the campers had arrived yesterday morning. Still bleary, I set down my coffee and stretched back in my chair. Rubbing my eyes, I leaned forward to put my elbows on the table and sensed someone plop down in a chair next to me. I opened my eyes to find Dean settling in next to me.

"Yo."

"Hey," I answered casually, yawning, "what's up?"

Dean shrugged, looking out around the dining hall. I liked Dean - we had hit it off during the first aid training day. I found myself bantering with him in whispers during the reviews: it was nothing we didn't already know anyway. At one point Dean made me laugh in the middle of a lecture about photosensitivity. The camp director was saying that fireworks and strobe lights were banned from the camp.

Dean tsked with exaggerated disappointment and swore.

"What?" I asked quietly.

"I've... got my arsenal of fireworks and strobe lights in the car," Dean deadpanned.

"Do you have a strong flashlight?" I riffed back.

"Yeah but I'd have to shine it like  _at_  them - I don't know if they'd stay still long enough for it to work."

"I don't know man, some of them go down," I slapped my hands quietly, "after just like a  _second_..."

We sniggered quietly, acknowledging that we were probably going to hell as the lecture continued.

Needless to say, Dean had a great, dark sense of humor that I appreciated. That night I was going over Sam's medical history (part of the portfolio counselors get for all of their campers) and discovered that Sam was actually one of the photosensitive kids that was attending. Oddly enough, that detail made me respect Dean more for having the ability to joke about it so easily. Either that or he was a total ass, but I really didn't get that vibe off him. He came off calm and controlled, a unique quality for a seventeen year old, yet it was unmistakable.

Thinking about that day, I turned to Dean at the breakfast table and asked him wryly if he had any photosensitive kids in his group. He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, then caught on and chuckled.

"No such luck," he replied. I nodded, willing to let the conversation drop. Dean had turned back to absently watch the kids. Soon, the onslaught for seats at my table was under way - mostly boys from Dean and I's camp groups. I could tell that the boys in Dean's group had already taken a liking to him as they peppered him with weird questions only pre-adolescents found funny and/or interesting. I think at one point a kid walked up and asked Dean whether he peed sitting down and I couldn't stop laughing at Dean's double-take and the harassed confusion with which he whispered, " _What?"_  before another camper distracted him back to the table.

A few minutes later, I saw Sam walk into the dining hall and realized that all the seats at my table were taken. Wasn't a hundred percent sure what to do about that (remember, I'm new to this whole counselor thing), but let it go as Sam came over to us.

"Hey," Sam said airily, sidling up next to Dean where he was sitting. Dean leaned back to look up at his brother.

"Hey dude, pull up a chair."

"'kay," Sam murmured, walking away tiredly to grab one of the chairs stacked up against the wall nearby. It dawned on me that Dean was probably a great temperature gauge for how Sam was doing. Sam looked and sounded sleepy - like he hadn't gotten enough sleep (which can be bad - lowers the seizure threshold for some people), but Dean didn't look concerned. Probably just the way Sam normally woke up.

Sam started to drag the chair over, accidentally making a loud noise that reverberated around the entire hall as the metal grated and screeched against the floor. The hall rang out with kids' reactions - groans and jeers at the piercing sound and Sam immediately stopped moving, a slow blush coming over him as he groggily put his hands up in defense, overwhelmed, and looked around apologetically.

I heard Dean snort with laughter as he got up from his seat and walked over. Sam looked openly to Dean and mouthed, 'sorry,' as his brother approached. I saw Dean wave off Sam's apology just before picking the chair up to bring it over.

The hall's volume died back down to the dull roar that it had been and the two of them walked in sync together. Sam visibly got over his discomfort, arriving at the table with a relaxed (but still fatigued) chortle at something Dean had just said.

Dean set the chair down next to his and Sam moved to sit just as Alicia, the camp director, announced it was our table's turn to go up to the buffet. The sound of the boys' ear-splittingly loud chairs was testament to their enthusiasm for food as they rushed up to the buffet.

About twenty minutes later, Sam was chowing down, fully awake and animated. He was listening intently, a glint of pure amusement on his face as Dean laid down challenges to the boys for the days' scheduled activities.

"Okay okay no. Three bull's eyes. You do  _three_  bull's eyes, Jake, and I'll give you a reward."

"-What's the reward?"

"I'll take that bet! I can do it!"

"Are you kidding?! I can't do three on the first day - I have to practice!" Jake complained, his expression slightly hurt.

"Okay," Dean replied to Jake calmly, "but," he looked around the table, "who just said they'd take the bet?" he asked seriously, pointing at the boys around the table.

"Me!" A kid named Cole claimed, raising his hand confidently. Dean pointed at Cole and widened his eyes with mock gravitas.

"You serious?"

"Yeah but wait what's the reward?" Cole asked.

"Um, I don't know. Five dollars!" Dean said, obviously coming up with that misguided idea off the top of his head. The kids whooped with excitement as I raised an eyebrow, rolled my eyes and clapped Dean against the shoulder. He looked back at me innocently and I gave a slight shake of my head as I mouthed, 'candy.'

In an effort to be a cool counselor, I'd brought a stash of sweets with me in my car and I had no problem sharing.

" _Candy!_ " Dean took it and ran with it. The table groaned.

"No, let's do the five dollars-!"

"Yeah let's bet money!"

"No, no we're not betting with money anymore - it's gonna be candy," Dean corrected quickly, stifling the complaints. He shot me a crooked grin, tacitly apologizing for having almost started up a gambling ring in this wholesome Epilepsy camp. I chuckled and waved it off: no big deal.

"You know, we're not eight, Dean," Sam murmured under his breath, smiling up at his brother as he reached for the paper dixie cup that held his meds. The nurses had come around mid-meal to drop off everyone's prescriptions. Dean looked over to Sam and gave him a small shove.

"Shut up," he whispered comically, then looked up at the table, "I like candy. Everybody likes candy, who doesn't like candy? It's a good reward," Dean concluded jovially.

"What kind of candy? I have diabetes!" A random kid called out. Dean immediately leaned over to me just as I took a bite of my scrambled eggs.

"Max has diabetes - do you have-?" he asked in an undertone. I nodded, trying to finish my bite.

"Yeah I've got sugar free gum," I coughed. Dean nodded and turned back.

"S'cool, Max, we got you covered, trooper."

"Okay," Max replied, satisfied.

"Okay but so...  _Cole_ ," Dean said, fixing his gaze on the boy.

"Yeah," Cole replied, no nonsense as he took another bite of his hash browns.

"Three bull's eyes today. I want to see them," Dean ordered playfully. Cole laughed.

"Okay."

"I have another wager though," Dean added, rubbing his hands together, ramping up suspense.

"What?!"

Dean grinned and leaned towards Sam, putting his arm around the back of his chair. Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother's close proximity.

"You're doing archery today, right?" He asked casually. Sam nodded and reached out for his plastic cup of water.

"Okay," Dean turned back to the table, "I bet that I can get more bull's eyes than Sam today."

Sam snorted into the cup and looked at Dean, his expression the definition of skepticism. Everybody saw it, too. Like Sam  _knew_  he'd be able to beat Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows, jerking his head back with indignation.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean shot at his brother playfully. Sam gave a wry smile and shook his head.

"What- Shh, guys -  _guys!_  - What're the stakes, Dean?" I prompted, trying to be heard by the throng of boys asking questions and throwing out their opinions about whether Dean or Sam were better at archery (a thing about kids this age: speculation is as good as fact sometimes).

"All right. The stakes. If  _I_ beat Sam," Dean paused for dramatic effect, "then for the rest of camp, you guys have to be my waiter and take my order during meal times."

The boys laughed. Good one. It was a light-hearted chore that'd likely fail to happen even if Dean did win. After a second, the boys prompted about what would happen if Sam won. Dean turned to Sam, who grinned evilly.

"If  _I_  win, then Dean's gotta wear Joe's hat for a whole day," Sam said, his laughter mixing in with the eruption that came from the table. Joe, a fellow counselor and father to one of the younger campers, had brought a rainbow-patterned baseball cap with a plastic spinning fan sprouting from the top. Massive, neon pink sunglasses had been glued onto it as well, making it impossible to wear without the added accessory.

This hat had been the most celebrated prop of the day yesterday, with several kids swapping it onto their heads every five minutes. Multiple times over the kids had tried to get it onto Dean who'd successfully managed to dodge their attempts. He was a mature seventeen year old, sure, but he was still seventeen: that hat was just  _not cool_.

At Sam's announcement, Dean slumped down with disappointment, probably staring daggers at Sam (I couldn't see his expression - his back was facing me). Silent communication passed between them - I could only see Sam's face he was obviously enjoying this.

"You  _suck_ ," Dean said simply, sounding defeated already. Sam laughed and put his palms up.

" _You_  suck," he pointed at Dean, "- you  _started_  it," he retorted cheerfully. I smiled at Sam's dimples deepening as he looked at Dean.

The rest of the boys had pulled out of Sam and Dean's conversation a little bit, one of them having announced that even if Sam  _didn't_  hit enough bull's eyes today, one way or another they'd make sure Dean would have to wear that hat at some point.

The table was controlled chaos, the boys laughing and shouting - playing with their food (a camp thing: only parents give a shit about manners) and talking. I was pleased: everyone was getting along. I got up to check everyone had taken their meds while Dean continued to distract them. I'd just sat down when Cole called out from across the table.

"Sam!"

Sam glanced over.

"Yeah?"

"Are you like really good at archery?"

The kids all looked to Sam.

Sam smiled and pointed with panache at Dean with the same hand that held his plastic cup of water. My eyes squinted with concern as I saw Sam's hand tremble. I noticed Dean pull his chair up closer to Sam.

"Better 'n  _'imm_..." Sam hummed, then stopped like it took effort, blinking. The kids at the table picked up on it.

"Jay, Sam's-"

"I know, Cole, it's cool," I said, "Ask him again later," I suggested, watching Dean's phenomenal reflexes as he leaned over his brother smoothly. Totally relaxed, Dean pulled the cup from Sam's hand just before it started doing the tango. " _Shi-_ ," I heard Sam whisper as he watched his own hand working itself out. Without taking his eyes off Sam, Dean set the cup down on the table.

"You good?" Dean murmured, his voice calm and steady. The kids at the table had resumed conversation, taking Sam's seizure at the table in stride.

"Yeah.., just..." Sam murmured, his seizing muscles starting to travel. Dean coolly wrapped an arm around Sam's back just as the seizure reached his shoulder and forced him to crook his neck to the side, curling his body.

Sam would've fallen out of his chair if Dean hadn't been holding him. The camper that'd been sitting next to him (Oliver, I know now) had been pretty quiet at the table, but at Sam's muffled attempt at a swear I watched him look up and lose his page to spot Sam.

It was just a second more and Sam's side relaxed.

"Ah," Sam breathed with irritation, starting to flex his neck and arm. Dean rubbed Sam's back for a second before pulling back. Oliver spoke up softly.

"You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah s'just...so... _annoying_..." he murmured, flashing an embarrassed smile. "Thanks," he added genuinely.

"Sam, you cool?" Cole piped up from across the table. It wasn't obnoxious, though: it was the caring tone of voice he'd inherited from his parents after  _he'd_ have seizures. I was struck by how adult Cole sounded: he was older than most of the campers, but he was still only  _just_  fourteen - an age when dripping sarcasm and mockery was more the norm. It took me another twenty-four hours to figure out that literally every kid here had a switch from fun-loving idiot-child to serious and aware caretaker. The realization made me even more dedicated to making sure they could be fun-loving idiots which, I discovered, meant that Dean and I were destined to be buds.

Sam flinched up at Cole's check and nodded.

"Yeah totally."

"Are you really good at archery?" Cole repeated his question as if nothing had happened. Sam smiled, about to answer, when Dean answered for him.

"Sam is so good I'm gonna be  _praying_  for more simple partials today," Dean joked, referring to the type of seizure Sam had just had.

My jaw fell in shock at Dean's openly callous remark as the table collapsed into laughter. Sam directed a well-aimed punch into his brother's side and Dean caught his wrists as he cracked up.

"Dude you're such a jerk," Sam said, laughing as he tried to tug his arms away from Dean's hold. Dean was smiling, entertained at Sam's ineffective efforts to pull away, but soon let go as he muttered.

"Bitch."

It was the most counter-intuitive moment to think was, 'cute,' but allow me to drop my manly stoicism for a second: somehow it just was.

And then the kids just started knocking on the table together in rhythm, which confused the shit out of me. I found out later it was a tradition to, 'knock on wood,' when someone mentioned seizures using clinical terms. Every camp has its  _things_ , I guess.

Sam had started talking to Oliver about the book he was reading and Dean leaned back in his chair, stretching. He glanced over to me.

"Hey," he said, slapping my knee.

"Yeah, what?" I said, still baffled at what had just happened with the table-banging thing.

"We need to torch that hat before Sam gets out on the field."

I snorted a laugh.

"No way, dude. Ya gotta wear it," I replied, then cocked my head to the side, " _with_  the cheesy leather jacket," I said, smirking. Dean rolled his eyes and started laughing silently, shaking his head, no doubt lamenting what he'd gotten himself into.

"S'not cheesy," he griped comically.

Right now, though, like I said, we're four nights into camp and, if you're wondering, the answer is yes. Dean  _did_ end up wearing the hat the following day. He was dedicated too, even going so far as to wear it during pool time. I think I have some great photos of him attempting to play water volleyball. Definitely some legit shots of him throwing Sam into the deep end. The kids loved it. Especially, I think, Sam.

I've had my moments, too. Like right now, I'm definitely taking after Dean in letting the kids try out their 'skillz' with mattress surfing. And earlier this evening Dean and I cross-dressed for dinner after I'd made the inexcusable mistake of going in with Dean on another ill-fated bet. To be fair though, I knew Dean was throwing them. After he'd made a fool of himself with Joe's hat, it was pretty much downhill from there: Dean was willing to model a clown so the kids could be the fun-loving idiots. It was working.

So when I looked around, appraising the situation in the cabin and taking count, I was surprised to find that I was down a camper.

"Hey Gabe who're we missing?"

"Huh?" Gabe asked, oblivious.

"Where's Sam?"

Gabe looked around wearing a surprised expression, as if just realizing that the other four campers were even  _in_  the cabin. Bizarre guy, Gabe.

"I don't know-"

"-All right," I overlapped his words impatiently, annoyed. Grabbing my flashlight, I walked out of the cabin to look around. Sam didn't wander - he must've gone to the bathroom. We use the buddy system at night though: we're in the woods.

I walked to the bathrooms and called Sam's name.

No answer.

I listened intently for any sound around the stalls, but there was no sound of movement. Stumped, I turned around to look out over the campus - the cabins were snugged into various small clearings, all connected by well-maintained sidewalk paths that led downhill towards the dining hall.

"Sam!" I called out again, my voice echoing back to me.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Story 7 - Camp (Part 2)

Words: ~ 5,500

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Stumped, I turned around to look out over the campus - the cabins were snugged into various small clearings, all connected by well-maintained sidewalk paths that led downhill towards the dining hall._

_"Sam!" I called out again, my voice echoing back to me._

* * *

"-Yeah?" I heard a small voice call back. I turned my flashlight in the direction of my cabin.

"Sam, where are you?" I called out again, this time softly, knowing that he was nearby.

"Hey - sorry - I'm here," Sam replied, his voice sounding a little strained. I squinted as I came closer to the cabin and saw Sam's flashlight turn on. He appeared out from behind the cabin.

"Hey dude, why're you over there?" I asked, stepping my way carefully through the thicket to meet him.

"There's like... a bench here..." Sam murmured, disappearing from view again until I rounded the corner. He was right - there was a decent wooden bench built against the building's exterior, replete with decaying wooden floorboards beneath it: a half-hearted attempt to make a deck, I supposed.

"Huh. Cool," I said simply, watching as Sam sat back down and turned his flashlight off. "So you're just... sitting in the dark alone?" I asked, biting back the sardonic tone I would normally have in this situation. I saw Sam shrug in the darkness.

"When'd you go into remission?" Sam asked hesitantly. Sighing, I turned off my flashlight and settled onto the bench next to him.

"Few years ago."

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen."

"That must've been cool."

I nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah. It was."

A beat of silence passed.

"Did you get a lot of grand mals?"

"Eh, not really. Do you?"

"Not really."

"Yeah..." I trailed off, not sure where we were headed.

"I get them sometimes though," Sam murmured. I waited for him to continue but he didn't.

"-Yeah?" I prompted.

"Yeah," Sam replied, sounding sad. I didn't really know what to say, so I went with something stupid.

"They suck."

Sam huffed a laugh. He was fidgeting with a stick or something and threw a broken piece of it at the ground bitterly.

"They really do."

I nodded lazily and folded my arms across my chest: it was chilly out. I squinted over at Sam, making sure he had layers on. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, probably a hand-me-down: definitely warm enough.

"You know..." Sam started, then stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't know they looked like that."

"-looked like wha-  _Oh_ ," I said, because I'm an idiot. Megan Lute, one of Carrie's campers, had had a grand mal earlier today. Really rare, honestly. Last year there'd been grand mal total of zero (haha).

Still, I was a little off-put that this was Sam's first time seeing a grand mal. Most of the kids here had seen them - mostly when they were at Epilepsy events (including this camp, I guess) and/or the hospital.

"So... that was the first time you'd ever seen a grand mal?" I clarified, inwardly wincing. I saw Sam's head nodding in the dark. He pulled his hoodie up, a weird gesture: it wasn't  _that_ cold.

"Not even at the hospital?"

Sam shook his head. Hm. I remember witnessing mine for the first time in the hospital when I was like seven years old. It was freaky but, well, actually I hadn't had a grand mal until I was twelve, so it's not like I had to come to terms with the fact that I'd ever looked like that without knowing.

"I, um, I don't go to the hospital that often," Sam said thickly, palming his hood further down over his face. I twisted my lips to the side, nodding in thought.

I mean, okay.

Silence fell between us again.

The crickets were loud tonight.

I finally sighed, concluding that I was terrible at this. Sam sniffed and gave a small gasp and that's when I was  _positive_  I was terrible at this. Worried, I turned over to look at him.

"Hey, Sam, c'mon, it's okay, bud," I said roughly, hazarding an arm around his shoulders. Sam hunched and leaned in against me. I felt him jerk with another silent cry and... man, my heart went out to him. I moved closer and tightened my hold. I bit my lip, thinking.

Yeah. I needed Dean.

I heard Gabe call out from the front of the cabin and relief washed over me. I squeezed Sam reassuringly before I called back. I felt - and heard - Sam give another quiet sob and I pulled him closer, cringing with sympathy.

"Yeah hey Gabe we're around back!"

I flicked my flashlight on and shined it out past the side of the building so Gabe could spot us. Sure enough, Gabe's beam lit up the same spot as mine for a second and then vanished. I heard his trampling footsteps over the brush to get to the back.

"Hey guys what're you doing back here the mattresses are starting to-" Gabe babbled lazily as he navigated the forest floor. I waited until he was within earshot to interrupt him.

"Gabe - hey,  _Gabe_ ," I said sharply, impressed with myself that my tone of voice conveyed an urgency that had effectively shut the teen up. He turned around the corner.

"-What?" Gabe asked bluntly, shining the light over Sam and I, getting me right in the eyes. I squinted, irritated.

"Gabe, go get Dean for me, " I ordered, my voice having taken on this firm yet quiet tone.

Gabe's stupid flashlight remained fixed on us, his gaze just staring at Sam huddled against my side. This friggin' kid, man.

" _Gabe_! Now would be good-!"

"Okay," Gabe replied carelessly.

"Move faster," I yelled after him, hearing his slow tromps as he walked back to the front of the cabin. I rolled my eyes and knocked my head lightly against the wall. Note to self: find Gabe's pot tomorrow.

I turned my gaze back down to Sam and rubbed his arm clinically, feeling awkward. I didn't have siblings and I  _really_  didn't have any experience with emotionally vulnerable thirteen year olds.

"You okay?" I asked tentatively.

He sniffed and nodded against me, but he didn't move away. He sniffed again, sounding this time like he was regaining composure. I was wrong - he was just setting up to talk.

"I jus... just didn't know..." Sam wept. I squeezed his arm again.

"I know, I know. It's kind of scary, right?" I replied gently, not knowing I had it in me to sound so understanding. Still, it was a dumb thing to say. I'm sure that if Sam wasn't so upset right now he'd be rolling his eyes and sarcastically quipping back, "understatement, Jay, way to be."

Damn, I want  _that_  kid back.

... Where the fuck is Dean?

"Like, I've had grand mals in public places and stuff - in school..." Sam tapered off, and I felt him shudder under me.

"Yeah but Sam, it's not a big deal..." I said softly, trying to make him feel better. Wrong move. Sam shifted suddenly and I pulled away, unsure.

"It  _is_  a big deal!" he cried. "It's  _such_  a big deal..." he trailed off as he doubled over on the bench.

God, this was torture.

"Sam, no..." I said, at a loss. I reached out and started rubbing his back, feeling his body shake under my hand. "It's gonna be okay, Sam," I added, inwardly rolling my eyes.

I sat up straight at the sound of muffled voices beyond us and prayed it was Gabe with Dean in tow. When I heard the distinctly carefree cadence of Dean's voice, I tried to conceal the desperate sigh of relief breaking out of me. I heard them start into the thicket along the side of the cabin to get to us. I could hear them talking.

"What the hell is this some late-night treasure hunt?" Dean joked.

"Nah man they're back here," Gabe replied monotonously, betraying nothing.

"Is this the part where you kill me, Gabe?" Dean deadpanned, their flashlights brightening as they came closer. Gabe didn't say anything.

And, you know what?  _Fuck Gabe_. When a fucking thirteen year old is freaking out and his brother is only like two cabins down, you move your ass to get him and let him know what's going down. Dean obviously had  _no_  idea Sam was so upset and that was so  _shitty_.

Repressing my fury for the moment, I leaned over towards the side of the cabin.

"Hey - over here," I said lamely.

"-Jay?" Dean called. I heard Dean's steps pick up pace through the brush.

"Yeah."

"Got Sam?"

"Yeah."

"'kay you got this, I'm gonna go back to the cabin," I heard Gabe mutter before he reached us.

Dean appeared from around the corner and flashed his light on the two of us on the bench. My hand was still on Sam's back and Sam was still hooded and hunched over, trying to keep it together. I squinted up at Dean, inadvertently giving him the sympathetic look I'd been wearing the whole time I was with Sam.

I don't know what I was expecting, honestly. I think maybe I thought Dean would soften at the sight of us. That he'd count me in on the take-care-of-Sam team and ask me calmly what had happened. That he'd casually move to take a seat on Sam's other side and take over the awkward back-patting I was doing.

That's... not what he did, though.

I'd never seen someone react the way Dean did. One second, I swear he was about to ask me what was up, eyes bright and mischievous, ready and expecting to throw down some strategy for the girls' cabins pranks - the next second a flash of pure panic ripped through him as he took in the scene. His eyes shot open, his breath visibly caught, his face blanched. It literally caused  _my_  heart to race, thinking I had misjudged the situation entirely and that something so much worse was happening I just didn't know about.

Because the sight of this cocky bastard dropping the facade was disturbing.

Even more disturbing was the next shift that came so suddenly I think I actually gasped a little. His entire bearing drew up into what I realized was a serious effort to repress rage.

 _At me_.

I think my jaw dropped at the sight. Dean was a fuckin' scary guy.

This all happened in a matter of milliseconds but it felt like ages. I physically shrank under his gaze, snatched my hand off Sam's back, and flinched when he spoke.

"Jay, what the  _fuck's_  going on?" Dean whispered through gritted teeth as he darted forward.

And, shit. I didn't know a seventeen year old could make me feel like I had done something so terrible it would never be forgiven.

"Uh-" I said, speechless, but Dean had already bypassed me to bend down in front of Sam.

"-Sam?!" Dean called anxiously, keeping his flashlight shining off in the distance, " _Sam_!" he repeated, anger leaking into his tone. I suddenly felt bad for  _Sam_. Nothing like the undivided attention of Dean's wrath.

It was dark, but I saw Dean pull Sam's hood down roughly and push his head up to face him. Sam huffed and startled at the treatment, putting his hands up in what I thought was defense. Instead Sam just braced them on Dean's arms, leaning  _towards_  Dean, and tried to look down again.

"Hey," Dean gave a shove against Sam's chest so Sam would look back up at him. "You hurt?" he asked, lifting his flashlight slowly until it was above Sam's head and streaming down his face. Dean was keeping the beam really steady given his current temper too...

Oh. Sam was photosensitive. Quick flashes and direct rays into the eyes (especially at night where the contrast is so high) can cause seizures. Dean was tilting the flashlight from above because Sam kept trying to look down.

Dean threaded his hand through Sam's hair and pushed his head back to get a better look. "Dean," Sam almost whined, "no, 'm not hurt," he mumbled.

And that's when Dean shifted again, his entire demeanor melting, his head tilting and leaning closer when he saw the tear tracks on Sam's face. He pulled his hand down from Sam's hair and touched Sam's face gently.

"D'you have a seizure?" He asked, his voice suddenly soft and quiet.

Sam sniffed, shook his head and gulped.

Dean flicked off his flashlight.

"Okay..." Dean drawled. Even in the dark, it was quite clear that Dean was expecting someone to speak up and fill him in. He kept a hand on Sam's shoulder and I could see him lean closer. Sam shook his head.

I coughed and I could see Dean's head turn to look at me. I  _felt_  him staring at me.

"Sam saw Megan have that grand mal," I said, my voice low.

My eyes had been accustomed to the dark earlier - I could see Dean's silhouette as he bobbed his head back in surprise.

"So?"

Dean looked between Sam and I.

"Um," I said, confused. Dean was so in sync with Sam I figured he'd just get it when I told him about Megan. Sam lifted his hood back over his head and went back to looking at the ground with arms crossed.

"H-he says he's never seen a grand mal before," I explained.

"What?" Dean turned to look at Sam from his crouched position. "Yeah you have," he whispered.

Sam shook his head.

"Yeah on tv and stuff-" Dean said reasonably. Sam shook his head again and sniffed.

"-not real," Sam murmured, his voice strained.

"Okay," Dean said patiently, "so what was different?"

Good question. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Sam was going to answer it. I could only hear his breathing which was still shaky. I resettled myself on the bench, angling a little less at Sam so he wouldn't feel pressured to say something. Dean remained crouching in front of Sam though, his hand still bracing the kid's shoulder, watching him in the dark.

Felt like awhile. Too long - and I felt like maybe the question was asking too much of Sam. I thought to ask the two of them to come inside the cabin - or at least to the front deck area - to continue this. It'd give Sam a break. I opened my mouth and before I got a word out, Sam spoke.

"Like..." Sam rasped, trying to hold back tears, and took a breath, "I just...  _get_... why people act like they do after..."

Dean leaned his head in.

"-after you have seizures?"

Sam nodded. He put his hand on his head and pulled the hood down further over his face. I could tell he'd started crying again.

"Yeah, it's-so- _stupid_ -but-they-always-look-"

"All right," Dean interrupted Sam's choked-up words in a whisper. He lifted up and moved onto the bench, reaching his arms out. Sam fell against him, shaking.

"-look  _scared_ ," Sam wept, finishing his sentence against Dean's shoulder.

"Okay," Dean whispered, starting to rub Sam's back. He cupped Sam's hooded head as Sam made another loud gasp and drew the kid closer. Sam clutched back and I could see Dean start to rock them, his hushes barely whispers against Sam's ear.

This was more affection than I thought Dean was capable of, the only hint being that unerring sense of calm control he exuded that I was talking about before. Dean had been so carefree and  _goofy_  during his time here that I'd neglected to notice he was a better supervisor and organizer than most of the full-fledged counselors. You just don't get that confidence or ability without having experienced the full spectrum of scenarios. It was pretty clear to me now that Dean wasn't just a good kid with a dark sense of humor and a penchant for silliness. I watched him quietly comforting his little brother, who was starting to relax in his arms, and realized that I'd only been observing the surface of Dean's capacity this whole time. I'd been taking him with a grain of salt, still always thinking that I knew better than him as an older guy that had actually  _had_  Epilepsy.

Now all I found myself doing was wishing that I'd had siblings. My parents were great but as I'd gotten older - around Sam's age, actually - it'd get embarrassing for me, the level of care and concern my seizures elicited from them. It was an age when I'd wanted to pull away, be my own person, spend time with friends. My parents represented dependence which I didn't like, but I couldn't deny that they were the two people I trusted most if I was going to have a seizure. It'd been a difficult time. Warring for independence when you have any serious medical condition is a series of knock-down drag-out battles. I didn't envy what my campers were on the cusp of experiencing in that department.

But Sam? I envied Sam a little right then. Everyone, including me, just thought Dean was cool. None of us registered that he was, in nearly every way, Sam's guardian because he was still a kid - still young - still acting like he had nothing to lose and all the time in the world. He came off unburdened and free-lanced. But watching him now in the dark with his brother, he was so obviously accustomed to expressing the steady unconditional love that only parents usually give. No one would have suspected this of Dean - a lot of siblings (even the older ones) are still just too young to become emotional anchors like this.

Sam's breathing had settled down and he'd turned quiet, still huddled against Dean (probably appreciating the shared body heat; it was getting colder), still allowing Dean's reassuring touches and rubs. I could see Dean's silhouette rise briefly before leaning back down again, humming a long, deep sigh. It sounded sleepy, no doubt an unconscious form of suggestion to his little brother: match my breath, slow your pulse down,  _start getting tired_. Dean pulled his head back a little and tilted it when he looked at his brother.

"Y'know, it's not scary, Sammy," he confided gently. Sam sniffed and took a hand off his brother's back to wipe his eyes.

"It was pretty freaky," he replied, disagreeing with his brother without sounding antagonistic. He sounded like he wanted Dean to agree with him. Dean pulled Sam back to lean against the wall with him and Sam followed, pulling his feet up onto the edge of the bench. He was practically a ball now, glued against Dean's side under his arm.

Dean's feet were planted on the ground, chest wide but angled towards his brother: open, kind, a stabilizing presence for his insecure brother.

"No, it wasn't," Dean whispered steadily, the same tone of voice he'd had before.

"She bit her tongue," Sam said, as if citing evidence. I saw Dean shrug and casually pull Sam closer.

"That happens."

"But-"

"Sammy how many times have we seen..." Dean stopped as if catching himself. My brows furrowed with confusion, but Sam must've understood because he replied immediately.

"That's different, that's-"

"It's not different," Dean reassured. I saw him shaking his head, believing his own words. I didn't understand, but whatever. It seemed like Dean was getting through to him.

"I... didn't know you had to see me looking like that," Sam said, sounding embarrassed. To my surprise, Dean started chuckling.

"You serious?"

Silence. I got the feeling like Dean was just contributing to his embarrassment there. It didn't last long.

"S'just floor-dancin', dude," Dean said and I almost laughed. That was the non-clinical term Dean had come up so he the kids wouldn't knock the foundations the wood cabins down. I could tell Dean was smiling when he said it too, but a second later he added, "'sides, you're not even conscious. It doesn't bother me."

Sam sniffed and gave a small laugh, making my heart jump for joy. He needed to snap out of it - I really wanted my dorky thirteen year old camper back.

"Yeah but you don't count," Sam said reasonably. Dean laughed and gave a sigh.

"I  _always_  count," he said wryly, only I think everyone sensed the truth in it.

"It bothers people though..."

"People can suck it," Dean replied, irritated that Sam was so preoccupied with other people.

"Fine, it bothers  _me_ ," Sam said, cutting to the issue.

"Well it  _shouldn't_ ," Dean shot back sharply, surprising me. Dean was consoling one minute, pissed off at Sam the next... I reframed it in my head too, trying to get perspective: Dean's now pissed at Sam for being upset about seeing Megan have a seizure-?

Well, actually, I can see it. Like I said before, pity isn't a thing here. And it's  _not_  like Megan was conscious. Sam knows the deal: knows any sympathy to be doled out should be for Megan when she wakes up exhausted with that shitty copper taste in her mouth. Soft foods from here on out for her at camp, but it's nothing any of us haven't dealt with before. She's twelve years old - if the camp (and the counselors) do their job right, she'll be flinging the apple sauce mush at her crush in no time, the grand mal virtually forgotten.

"It shouldn't, all right?" Dean repeated himself softly, his tone switching back to tender as he put his hand on Sam's head and pulled him in. He ducked his head down and gave his little brother a kiss on the forehead.

"Okay," Sam sniffled, nodding, and it sounded final. Dean reached around to give Sam a full hug and yeah: I really wish I'd had a brother like him growing up.

They parted and Dean brushed Sam's hood down from his head, landing a hand in his hair and smoothing it affectionately.

"You okay?"

I saw Sam nod.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, his voice returning back to even.

"Good," Dean murmured, and before I knew what was happening Dean had bent Sam down into a crouch, arm twisting around his neck in a hold and started giving Sam a noogie.

"Ow,  _DEAN!"_ Sam wailed as Dean laughed.

"I'm so  _happy-_ ," Dean pressed harder against his writhing brother, "-that you're  _okay_  now!"

Sam twisted around on the bench, trying to get out from under his brother's hold. Dean had to stop, cracking up at Sam's maneuvers and trying to get him back into the hold.

Even I started chuckling actually, my eyes so accustomed to the dark that I could see when Sam's arms and feet shot out from the balled position he'd been in to kick and scrape away from his brother. Sam fell against the bench on his back in the midst of his struggle and I saw Dean jump over and catch him before Sam's goofy panic would've caused a fall off the edge.

"Okay guys, c'mon," I spoke up as Dean pulled his little brother up to his feet and landed a playfully heavy arm around Sam's frame. I turned my flashlight on and stood up, ready to lead the way back around to the front of the cabin. I took the first step and heard the two of them start to follow.

"Oh hey y'know, speaking of seizures, Sammy did I tell you about what Jay and I were talking about yesterday?"

 _Oh no_ , I thought,  _what were Dean and I talking about yesterday?_

"No what?" Sam asked, his voice clear and back to normal.

"We're on the California fault line-"

I smiled, knowing where this was going. I hoped Sam had a similar sense of humor to his brother.

"The San Andreas fault line, yeah-" Sam interrupted, impressing me.

"-yeah and so earthquakes are more common, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, although he could've said, 'duh,' and it would've had the same meaning. Dean started chuckling at what he was about to say.

"So we were laughing that if we had an earthquake here, there'd be a delayed response because everyone'd think they were about to have an aura-"

Sam didn't say anything and I inwardly cringed, hoping that all was well behind me.

"The San Andreas fault: gas-lighting epileptics since 1906," Sam deadpanned, making me laugh so hard that I turned around to look at them. I didn't get the year he'd cited, but whatever. Later I looked it up and found out that 1906 was the San Francisco Earthquake. Sam was a smart, smart kid.

As we reached the front of the cabin, I turned around to face them.

"Okay so it's kind of late. Sam you want to grab your stuff to get ready for bed? I want to talk to Dean a sec."

"Sure," Sam said easily, breaking from his brother's side to go into the cabin. The lights were still on, the kids still awake and wide-eyed because Gabe sucked. It was ten forty-five: I'd missed the counselor meeting. I figured Gabe must have taken care of that and told someone because no one had come looking for me. Tim, I realized, must've had to forfeit the meeting too since Dean had been with me and the kids needed to be supervised at all times.

Not a big deal. We mostly just laughed about the day's activities and updated the status of kids that seemed to be having a rough time. Tim and I would get a debrief tomorrow morning from Alicia.

Dean watched Sam go inside and turned back to me.

"Everything cool?" I asked seriously, wanting a genuine answer.

"Yeah. Can I sleep in the cabin tonight?"

"Sure yeah Sam's bunk has an empty one next to it. Go check with Tim - I'll take Sam to the bathrooms."

Dean nodded and gave a sideways smile before taking off. I watched him take a few steps, then stop. He turned around to look at me.

"Hey- um..."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Sorry about, uh," Dean stammered, unable to say the right words. I got it, though.  _Sorry I thought you had hurt Sam - sorry if I may have scared you_.

He  _had_  scared me too, so it was a meaningful apology to me.

"No, dude," I waved, "It's forgotten, man," I replied, sounding smoother than I felt.

"All right cool," Dean smiled and turned back to jog towards Tim's cable.

Sam came out of the cabin, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand.

"Where's Dean?"

"He'll be back. Just going over to Tim's cabin to check the kids and get his sleeping bag," I replied casually, starting to walk with Sam over to the bathrooms.

"He's sleeping in our cabin tonight?" Sam asked. I couldn't help but smile a little at the tone of Sam's attempted nonchalance. He was obviously delighted to hear the news. I nodded.

"Yup."

When Dean arrived to our cabin with his sleeping bag, it caused something of an uproar. All the kids wanted to know if he was going to stay in our cabin for longer, why he hadn't slept over with us before, what bunk bed he was going to take, etcetera etcetera. Most of all they wanted to know why he was there to begin with.

"I think I want to do like a circuit tour of all the cabins, just to raise some hell," Dean would answer playfully with a wink, dodging the real reason like a pro. All his answers to the kids triggered charming surface banter, his facade back up and guns blazing with witty retorts and charismatic comments. His announcement that he was going to sleep got the kids in bed faster than I thought anything could and not for the first time I wished I had Dean instead of Gabe.

...

I'm a light sleeper - I always have been. So when I woke up to silence, I figured it was nothing. I was in a bottom bunk on the other side of the room across from Dean's bed. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, when I heard blankets rustling and soft whimpers coming from the brothers' direction. I blinked a second and turned to see what was going on.

I saw Dean was already reaching out through the bunk bed frames to land a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam - hey, Sammy," he whispered, trying to break Sam out of his nightmare. Sam gasped and keened quietly, clearly still stuck in his dream. Dean moved his hand back and pulled out of his sleeping bag. Sorely, he landed his feet on the ground and crouched over next to Sam's bed.

"Sammy, wake up dude," he whispered, leaning into Sam's bottom bunk and perching on the edge. I heard Sam gasp again, then start breathing heavily.

"Hey you okay?" Dean whispered. I couldn't see where his hand was in the dark, but I could see his arm slowly moving up and down over his little brother.

"Yeah," Sam replied weakly.

Dean stayed there for a few moments before ducking under Sam's bed completely and taking the side of the wall to lie down. Neither of them said anything - I just heard them moving around a little before settling down.

The rest of the night was quiet.

...

I also wake up early. Earlier than all of the campers. I don't like waking up so early - I usually lay awake in bed day-dreaming until I force myself out. But at the break of dawn when my eyes opened, I remembered Sam and Dean. Looking over, Dean's bed was still empty. I yawned as I pulled my sleeping bag off and set my feet on the freezing cold hardwood. Groggy, I padded over to Sam's bunk and braced my hand on the frame above, looking into the nook and unable to hide my smile.

The two of them were both on their backs, mouths open, oblivious to the world. Dean's arm was outstretched under Sam's neck and shoulders, his hand curled in slightly, probably having relaxed in his sleep from when he'd been holding Sam. Sam's arm closest to Dean was bent at the elbow against the bed, hanging in mid-air as it leaned against Dean.

I figured maybe I'd let Sam save face by waking them up now before the other kids got up. I smirked at the thought of shaking the frame of the bunk bed, simulating an earthquake. I didn't think Dean would appreciate that though, so instead I just leaned down and whispered.

"Yo, hey guys."

Sam came awake with a start, grunting a little.

"Yeah, hi," he said, trying to focus. I laughed at the simple response.

"Hi bud. You comfortable?" I smiled, ticking my head to Dean.

Sam gave a tired huff and looked over at Dean.

"Dee," Sam grunted softly, nudging his brother.

"Uh, what?" Dean moaned, eyes still closed.

I watched thoroughly amused.

"Wake up," Sam murmured, but he didn't move to wake his brother up any more than he already was. Sam's eyes closed again. A second or two passed and Dean sighed, then opened his eyes. Looking around blearily, he finally spotted me above him.

"Hey Jay," he said sleepily. I snorted quietly.

"Hey man."

Dean started moving, idly prepping to stretch, and Sam hummed in annoyance at the jostling.

"Oh shit," Dean said, suddenly curling in against Sam in pain, starting to pull his out from under Sam, "I can't feel my  _arm_ ," he whined, grimacing as Sam reacted on automatic and lifted up so Dean could get it out and cradle it against his chest. I started laughing quietly.

"S'ry," Sam murmured, having already started to go back to sleep.

Dean huffed, hitting his head against the pillow, then turned to look at me.

"Just thought I'd wake you up before the campers did," I shrugged. Dean gave an understanding nod and sighed again before he gathered resolve and got up to go back to his bunk.

At the end of the camp, I decided I wanted to come back next summer. I never had any siblings growing up and I realized that being a camp counselor was the closest I could come to being a big brother. I'll probably never stop trying to be as good as Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!


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